


Regarding Sam

by jublke



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Injury, Chick-Flick Moments, Episode Tag, Episode Tag: s12e11, Gen, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Sam, Injury, Regarding Dean, Sprains & Strains, Tea, hearing loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-12 19:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10498092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jublke/pseuds/jublke
Summary: This is an episode tag for S12, E11 "Regarding Dean." Sam's time with the Loughlin family left him a little worse for wear. Dean, of course, has no memory of this... Rated T for swearing.





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> When I watched Sam in this episode, I knew I had to write a tag for it. My thanks to Fanpire 101 for beta-reading. I own none of this, save any leftover typos.
> 
> Note: I am not a doctor. However, I think I'm taking better care of Sam than the original writers did.
> 
> Cross-posted at Fanfiction.net.

An hour after parting ways with Rowena, Dean still marveled at the familiar feeling of Baby's wheel in his hands. Miles of beautiful scenery whizzed by, accompanied by good tunes - _Hey, I can remember lyrics again!_ \- and the rush of fresh air from the open windows. After being cooped up in a motel, recalling next to nothing from minute to minute, it was sweet relief to reconnect with his memories, with his life. Most of it, anyway. Dean tried not to dwell too much on his time spent in Hell, his brother's months of soullessness, Purgatory...

Dean cleared his throat. _No time like the present, right?_

"So, Sam." He turned toward his brother with a too-bright grin. "It's good to be back, huh? No more writing notes for me."

Sam didn't reply. His brother's left hand scrubbed at his right ear, his face contorted in an odd mixture of curiosity and distress. Dean glanced at the road, and then back at Sam. The younger man now had his left hand covering his left ear. The wrinkles on Sam's forehead seemed to be multiplying.

"Hey," Dean tapped him on the knee, his smile fading as Sam jumped. "What'cha doin'?"

Sam shook his head as if to clear it. "Nothing, I was just thinking." He worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

No answer.

"Sam!" Dean poked him again, eliciting another flinch, this one accompanied by a glare. "What's wrong?"

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. "Dean. If you want to have an actual conversation, turn down the damn music."

The older Winchester narrowed his gaze but did as Sam requested. "What's the matter, Princess? You got a headache?"

"No, it's just too loud." Sam winced as he rubbed beneath his right ear again, a frown firmly in place. He rolled up the passenger side window with his left hand and wrapped both arms around his stomach.

"You cold or something?" Dean snaked a hand across and felt his brother's forehead before Sam could bat his hand away. No fever. The older hunter frowned. _Whatever's going on, his reflexes are shot._

Dean blew out a breath. _Damn it._ He had no desire to relive his bout of witch-induced amnesia, but if something was wrong with Sammy, Dean had to fix it. And if Sam wouldn't tell him, he was going to have to figure out the problem himself. He couldn't help what he didn't know. Dean pulled off the highway at the next exit and drove straight toward the nearest diner.

Sam turned wide eyes on him. "Why're we stopping now? It's not even noon."

Dean shrugged. "I'm hungry." _And when we're out of the car, I'm gonna check you over._

Sam gave an exasperated sigh, accompanied by bitch-face number 15: Dude, you're always hungry.

Dean parked in front of Flapjacks-R-Us and hopped out of the Impala, making a mental note to oil the driver's side door. Sam followed more slowly, Dean noted, but he didn't expect to see his brother nearly nosedive into the cement. He flew around the car and supported Sam's right side. Sam pulled away and clutched the passenger door with his left arm, swallowing hard. After a minute, he blew out a breath, nodded, and stood to his full height.

"You okay?" It wasn't really a question. Dean knew Sam wasn't okay. Now, he just needed to get his brother comfortable enough to open up and tell him what was wrong. Hopefully, feeding him would help.

Sam turned away. "Yeah. Late night catching up with me, I guess."

Dean stuck to Sam's side like a stubborn label on a beer bottle as they walked toward the front of the diner. The little joint was surprisingly crowded given the time of day. He grinned and let out a low whistle as they walked in. "Full house equals good eats," he crowed, pointing to the sign for an All-You-Can-Eat flapjack special.

"Awesome," Sam responded, his voice tight.

Sheila, an older woman with a wig full of platinum blond curls, smacked her gum as she led them to a long counter in the center of the restaurant. "We don't have no more tables," she explained. "Hope you boys don't mind sittin' with the cook."

Dean grinned at her as he sat to the left of Sam. He didn't miss the wince his brother gave when Sheila smacked her gum in his ear. "Nah, this is great, huh, Sammy?"

Sam looked up, pain in his eyes, and didn't even bother faking a smile at the waitress. "It's great," he parroted, in that same little pinched voice that said just the opposite.

Dean, of course, ordered the special. Sam, as usual, had questions about the menu. Dean ignored him - _Who cares which items are gluten-free or whether there's a lower cholesterol egg substitute?_ \- until he noticed their waitress spitting out her gum in the trash and realized that Sam had asked her to repeat herself more than once.

Dean frowned. Sam had his head cocked to one side, the same way he often looked when they were interviewing witnesses. It was his careful listening face, the one he made when he was paying very close attention to what someone was saying. _Why is he on guard here?_

The older man glanced around the diner, spotting nothing out of the ordinary. Clanking dishes, the sizzle of the griddle, laughter from a table of truckers, a crying baby in her mother's arms, a gleefully shrieking toddler running past where they were seated. Nothing to see here. Just another average morning in middle America.

"I wish that damn kid would shut up," Sam mumbled after the waitress left. He took a sip of his tea and rubbed the side of his head.

Dean rolled his eyes and gulped his coffee. "Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning." He raised his eyebrows and smiled at his brother.

"Dean." Sam stared at him. "There's nothing funny about this! We didn't get any sleep at all last night! Remember? Taking down that pack of witches? Finding the Black Grimoire? Rowena casting a spell to get your memory back?"

Dean set aside his coffee and leaned into his brother, hissing, "Why don't you say that a little louder, Sammy? I don't think the truckers in the back heard you." He gave a smile and a nod to the young mother, who now stared at them with wide eyes as she reached for her screeching toddler.

Sam flushed pink. "Shit, damn it, I didn't mean-" The mother abruptly scooped the child up with her free hand and clutched both baby and toddler tight as she rushed away from their table.

Dean chuckled, forking another wad of pancake into his mouth, syrup dripping down his fingers. He shook his head and sipped his coffee. "Man, you're on a roll today." Dean licked the errant glob of syrup from his hand.

"Shut up, Dean. And chew with your mouth closed."

"Bitch." He said it softly, so as not to further upset the young mother.

There was no response.

Dean frowned when Sam didn't reply with his usual "jerk." He turned to study his brother surreptitiously. Greasy hair, bags beneath his eyes. _Worrying about me was hard on him._ Dean felt a pang of guilt for upsetting his brother, but set it aside to continue his assessment. Faded jacket, worn boots. _Boy needs some new huntin' gear._ It was only when he looked closely that he noticed a spatter of blood on his brother's red and black checkered shirt. _Where in the hell did that come from?_

As if in answer to his unspoken question, his brother's left hand snaked up again, pushing aside his long hair to rub beneath his left ear. Dean's breath hitched. Although Sam's hand was clean, the beds of his fingernails were caked in dried blood. Dean swallowed hard when he caught sight of traces of blackish-red in the shell of Sam's ear, blood that his brother had clearly tried - and failed - to clean up. No wonder Sam had been begging to stay another night at the motel - he had wanted to shower away the evidence. It was Dean who had insisted, despite their all-night witch hunt, that they put some miles between the Winchesters and Eureka Springs before bedding down for the night.

Dean felt his heart pound. _What happened last night?_ He turned away from his little brother and flagged down their waitress. "Check, please."

"Dude!" Sam turned toward him in surprise when he caught sight of Dean standing up and throwing down bills. "I'm still eating."

Dean swallowed hard. "We're leaving." He walked toward the door, so anxious and angry that he nearly felt faint. _The kid is bleeding from his ears and he didn't tell me? What the fuck?_ He paused briefly at the door to ask a waitress for directions and then went to pace around the Impala.

Sam finally made his way out a few minutes later. He looked unsteady on his feet, and Dean cursed himself for not realizing there was a problem sooner.

"Get in," he barked at Sam, intentionally raising his voice.

His brother glared at him as he sat down. "What the hell, Dean? You don't need to yell at me."

Dean floored the Impala, taking a right turn with such gusto that the car's left tires briefly lost contact with the ground. "Apparently, I do." He drove like a madman through the little town, tires squealing in protest as he rounded each corner.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam finally replied, crinkling his wide forehead.

Dean slammed a hand on the dashboard. "I don't know, Sam! You tell me." He threw the Impala into park.

Sam peered out the windshield. "A hospital? Why are we here? You got wind of a case or something?"

The other hunter stalked toward the emergency entrance without answering, leaving Sam scrambling to follow him.

"Dean, what're you doing?" Sam tugged at his brother's sleeve as Dean passed through the sliding glass doors, but the older man ignored him and charged ahead to the desk.

He gave the receptionist a tight smile. "Hi. My name's Dean Wesson. My brother Sam here is bleeding from his ears and he's got some hearing loss."

The receptionist turned to Sam, who gaped at her and Dean like a beached fish. Dean crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. Sam dropped his eyes and chewed his lower lip.

"He's unsteady on his feet and loud sounds hurt his ears," Dean continued when Sam didn't add anything. "No fever."

The woman came around the desk. "Okay, honey," she said, extending a hand to Sam as if he was about to pass out. "My name's Jackie. Let's take you back to triage. Now, how did this happen?"

Dean sidled up to Sam's other side, not willing to miss any part of this story. He twined an arm around his brother and gave Sam a smug smile. His brother blanched and frowned at him before turning back to the receptionist, who apparently doubled as a triage nurse.

"I...um...I was exposed to some loud music at a party last night."

"That must have been some party," Jackie clucked. She set him down in a chair and checked his right ear with the otoscope. Sam hissed in pain. When she moved on his left ear, she added, "Do you remember exactly when it happened?"

"At a friend's house." As Dean and Jackie gave him competing quizzical looks, Sam revised his answer. "Oh, you asked when, not where." His cheeks reddened at the error and he looked away from them both, fixing his eyes on the far wall. "There was a band playing for a few of us. The guy mixing the sound turned up the treble really high. I was right by the speaker so it was kind of deafening. I..." he glanced at Dean before continuing. "I...uh...I passed out for a few minutes from the pain."

Dean closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. _Ah, Sammy. Why in the hell didn't you say anything?_

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

As Sam bit his lip, Dean forced himself not to stare at his brother. "I...um...I got into a fight earlier with one of the guys. He threw me into a wall and I hit my right arm. I...uh...I dislocated my shoulder a few years back and had surgery on that elbow. There's a couple of pins in there." He took a deep breath. "I don't think it's broken again, but it hurts."

Dean ground his teeth. _Damn it, Sammy. You never told me you had surgery either._ He shook his head. _Freakin' witches._

The nurse clucked unhappily as she examined his arm, eliciting a wince. "Must have been a lot of liquor at this party." Before Dean could interrupt to defend his brother, Jackie added, "If I didn't know better, hon, I'd think you were in an explosion. Your injuries are consistent with impact from a blast." Dean noticed that she was taking care to speak more slowly and clearly to Sam now that she understood the full extent of the damage. It upset him at the same time that he felt grateful to her. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how's your pain level now?"

Sam cast a worried look at Dean. "Uh," he said, clearly uncomfortable at admitting this in front of his big brother. That meant it had to be more than a five.

Dean tried to school his features into something less menacing. _No sense in yelling at him now._ He nodded at Sam, relieved when his kid brother dropped some tension with a returning nod and a resigned sigh.

"About a six," Sam mumbled, staring at his hands.

"Are you dizzy or nauseous?"

"I'm sorry, am I what?" Sam looked up and squinted at her, cocking his head to the side, the same way he had at the waitress earlier that morning. Dean's stomach dropped. Sam's fingers cupped his left ear protectively. "I'm having some ringing in my ears," he admitted.

She repeated the question, making sure Sam's eyes were on her.

"A little," he replied. "Especially when I change positions from sitting to standing."

 _Damn Winchester luck._ Dean sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. _Why can't we ever catch a break?_

"All right, hon," Jackie said. "Good thing we're not too busy this morning. Let's get you into a bed." She led Sam back to a tiny curtained cubicle with one guest chair and handed him a gown. Puppy dog eyes met his, and Dean helped Sam out of his shirts and into the gown. Once Sam was dressed to the nurse's satisfaction, she made sure that he was safely seated on the rolling bed. Jackie locked the wheels and adjusted the height to a more comfortable position. "The doctor will be in to see you shortly."


	2. Prognosis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam learns the extent and suspected prognoses of his injuries. Dean frets alongside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta-reading this story and for keeping me on track. My apologies for not posting this chapter sooner - I thought it was up.
> 
> Sincere appreciation to everyone who gave kudos on the previous chapter and to Chaos_Slave, ameliacareful, and sd_scoobydoo for your comments. I'd also like to give a special shoutout to my husband, for letting me bounce ideas off him about Sam's injuries, despite his utter lack of interest in all things Supernatural. I owe you one, honey.
> 
> None of this is mine, save any errors. I am not a doctor or medical professional, but at least I'm getting Sam help for his injuries!
> 
> Cross-posted at fanfiction (dot) net.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"What?" Sam looked up from the ER exam bed, where he sat adjusting the bulky black shoulder sling with his left hand.

Dean dropped his muddy boots from the end of Sam's bed to the floor and bit back his irritation. Sam had been known to deflect questions with that type of response, but Dean knew that his brother wasn't stalling this time. Sam genuinely hadn't heard him. He was studying Dean now, head tipped to one side, listening face on.

"When were you plannin' on tellin' me about this, huh?" Dean dug the words in a little deeper. "Not like you can hide it."

Sam's cheeks pinked and he broke eye contact. "It's just a mild shoulder strain, Dean."

"And a sprained elbow," Dean grumbled, gauging his brother's reaction. Sam still wasn't looking at him. A touch more gently, he added, "Plus, you can't hear."

Sam's head snapped up, features contorted in annoyance. "I can hear."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Not well."

His brother began to shrug, winced, and stilled. He picked at the bed sheet with his uninjured hand and sighed. "Didn't seem too bad at first."

Dean leaned closer. "What happened?" He hoped a nurse wouldn't venture by. Sam was having trouble modulating his voice.

His brother shuddered, the sudden motion causing him to wince again. Dean reached out and placed a hand on Sam's sheet-covered leg.

"Hey," he said, shaking his brother a little so that Sam looked at him. "You're safe here. Whatever happened, it's over now."

The younger man nodded, lips thinned into a line of pain. "Catriona cast a spell that brought dead insects to life. She had a whole pin board of butterflies." His breath hitched. "The sound of their wings was like crystal breaking and she kept cranking up the volume." Sam's free hand moved higher to cup his left ear as he spoke. "The sound just got louder and louder and higher and higher-"

"Okay," Dean interrupted, watching his brother's face pale. "I get it."

 _Damn freakin' witches_. He put his feet back up on the bed, his boots in contact with Sam's legs, and leaned back in the chair. Physical contact in public, Winchester style.

Sam puckered his mouth into a frown and ventured a glance at Dean. "I can hear okay when it's quiet. I mean, everything's muffled, but ..."

"You can still make out what I'm sayin'."

Sam nodded. "But riding in the Impala is hard. I can't hear you over the music. Anything with background noise." He bit his lip, and Dean felt a touch of compassion.

"Like at the diner this morning?" he asked gently.

"It was really disorienting," Sam admitted. "It's hard to concentrate on individual sounds when there's so much going on." He waved his free hand, gesturing at the chaotic environment of the emergency ward. "All of this noise is making me dizzy." Sam shook his head, as if in an unsuccessful attempt to clear it. "I feel like I'm underwater."

"With luck, that will improve within a month." A young man in a white coat and wire-framed glasses held out a hand to Sam. "Hi, Mr. Wesson. I'm Doctor Landers."

Dean dropped his boots back to the floor. He eyed the man skeptically from his chair beside the bed as his brother shook hands with the doctor. The guy didn't look a day over twenty.

"I took over for Dr. Grizzwold at shift change," he explained. "Just wanted to touch base with you before we discharge you." He flipped through a stack of papers. "Now, you've got someone to drive you home?"

Sam indicated the scowling man seated near him.

"Good," the young man nodded. "You shouldn't plan to drive anywhere while you have those painkillers in your system."

Sam nodded again.

The doctor turned to Dean. "You can fill these scripts here, if you'd like. There's a pharmacy next door." He handed a few sheets of printed paper to the older man.

Confusion crawled across Sam's face. "Your meds," Dean said, directly to Sam, waving the papers slightly. The wrinkle between Sam's eyes visibly relaxed.

Dean's stomach clenched at his brother's open vulnerability. He closed his eyes until he felt more composed. He had to remain strong for Sam.

Fortunately, his brother hadn't noticed Dean's discomfort because the doctor was talking directly to Sam now. "I've looked over your scans and consulted with radiology. Your arm should heal up just fine. None of the pins shifted. You should consult with an orthopedist when you get home, though, all right?" Dean watched as his brother dutifully nodded, knowing full well that Sam had no intention of following through on such a minor injury. "You should wear the sling until then." Sam nodded again.

Dean frowned, wishing for a better option. Cas was MIA and had been for some time. Dean had called nearly a dozen times, but the angel wasn't returning his messages. The hunter tried not to dwell on what that might imply. Sam needed him. They were in this alone for now, which meant that Dean couldn't panic. His brother could read him like an extra sense, and Sam was busy putting that ability to full use now. No need to upset Sammy, especially when he was already in a weakened state.

 _One day at a time_ , Dean reminded himself, recalling his brief stint in AA. Funny how those coping techniques came back at the oddest times...

Abruptly, he realized that the doctor had been speaking with Sam for some time now. He tuned in to hear, "...two burst eardrums. Given the circumstances of your injury, you're lucky you can hear at all. Best case scenario, your ears should heal up in about a month."

Sam smiled until the doctor cleared his throat and continued, "But given your sustained exposure to loud noise, it's likely that you have some permanent high frequency hearing loss."

Sam blanched at the doctor's blunt delivery of this news. Dean sucked in a breath and tried to stay calm for his brother. He could feel anger surging through him, an unpleasant reminder of his time with the Mark.

 _No one hurts my Sammy and gets away_ _with_ _it_! Dean wished he could kill the Loughlin witches a second time. And a third.

"The good news is that your hearing shouldn't get any worse than it is now. You can only improve from here." The doctor gave the Winchesters a bright, artificial smile which neither brother reciprocated. "You need to follow up with an ENT when you get home, all right?"

Both hunters looked up. Sam swallowed, hard, looking like he was fighting nausea. Dean felt like throwing up as well. He suspected that his sibling might actually make this appointment. Especially if his big brother forced the issue.

 _Damn, where're we gonna get the money_? Credit card scams were getting harder to work, especially since they used the bunker as a fixed base of operations. People in town had begun to recognize them. And it looked like Sam might need regular visits to a doctor. Dean chewed a fingernail.

"I'll get Jackie to draw up your discharge papers," Dr. Landers said. He touched Sam lightly on his uninjured shoulder. "Hang in there." His false cheerfulness rang in the air long after he left.

Sam met Dean's eyes briefly before he shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry, Dean," he whispered.

Dean scooted the chair closer to the bed. "Nothing to be sorry about, Sammy. Except for not tellin' me," he amended. "We'll get through this."

Sam sniffed.

Dean shook his head and wrapped his arms around his chest. His brother sat rigidly on the hospital bed beside him, staring at the floor with unshed tears, looking as wrung out as Dean felt.

 _This is bad. This is so bad. This is so damn bad._ Dean tried to swallow a rising sense of panic but it was no use. _Ears and eyes are critical to the hunt._ Dad had drilled that into them since they were young.

 _Maybe Cas can heal him?_ Dean knew there were some things even the angel couldn't fix _. But we have to try. Damn Cas for choosing the worst possible moments to disappear._

Dean clenched his jaw _. A month, minimum, before we know the full extent of this nightmare. A month that Sam definitely won't be hunting. Because even if he could, there's no freakin' way I'm putting his life at risk like this. All a Supernatural fugly has to do right now is make a lot of noise and Sam's toast._

Dean chewed his lip as he studied his baby brother, the one he had failed to protect. Again.

_Damn, I need a drink._

Sam wiggled on the bed and Dean realized that he was trying to extract himself from the hospital gown. The older brother stood and helped him to remove the garment. A tip of Dean's head and a nod from Sam had the brothers agreeing to leave Sam's undershirt off for now, so as not to disturb the sling. Dean eased Sam back into the blood-stained checkerboard flannel.

"Thanks, Dean," his brother mumbled.

The older hunter gripped Sam's free shoulder and squeezed. "I gotcha, Sammy. It's gonna be okay."

 _It's never gonna be okay!_ Dean's inner voice argued _. What in the hell are we gonna do now?_


	3. A Cup of Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a hunt, Sam and Dean share a cup of tea. It doesn’t go quite the way Sam planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, not mine, don’t own. 
> 
> My thanks to Fanpire101 for beta-reading for me. Any remaining errors are mine.
> 
> I appreciate everyone who took the time give kudos or bookmark this story. It means a lot to me! My thanks to Snow_white79, StrGazr04, Alleywolf0317, and Mimmi85 for your comments on the previous chapter.
> 
> Cross-posted at Fanfiction.net

They didn’t talk about it. Not after Nurse Jackie returned with Sam’s discharge papers. Not when Dean picked up Sam’s pain medication and ear drops. Not on the long drive back to the bunker. Not during the monotonous days holed up at home while Sam recuperated, hiding out in his room with his injured arm propped on a flotilla of pillows. Not even the night Sam found Dean in the kitchen, praying to Cas in a broken sort of voice, begging him to please return and fix his baby brother.

Three weeks had passed, and Sam could feel his patience with convalescence wearing thin. He was finally able rotate his right shoulder and wrist without pain; he’d regained most of his mobility. But recovery from his burst eardrums had progressed at a much slower pace. Despite clarity in most of his hearing range, the uppermost registers remained a jumbled mess.

Sam’s secret addiction to female pop stars - Mariah Carey and Ariana Grande among them - provided no comfort. Their vocal ranges were far less impressive when certain high notes simply dropped out at random. The disconcerting effect left him nauseous and irritable.

Every day, Sam readjusted the volume on his headphones and tweaked the treble and bass to discern if his hearing was improving. Initially, he’d been heartened by slow but steady progress. As the end of the month neared, however, Sam began to plateau. In frustration, he found himself avoiding things - and people - that reminded him that there might still be a problem. He listened to Dean’s moldy bass-thumping rock, watched Netflix shoot ‘em ups, and refused to talk to Jody or Mom on the rare occasions when they called. Mostly, he tried not to dwell on it.

For his part, Dean supported Sam’s recovery by teasing him less and hovering more. He never directly asked for a status update on Sam’s health. Rather, his brother acted as if they were on an extended staycation, with some extra TLC thrown in for Sam.

As the days wore on, Dean’s solicitous behavior grated on Sam’s nerves. He grew increasingly exasperated at the older hunter’s mounting twitchiness. Finally, he ordered Dean to “just go hunt something already!”

Dean had entered Sam’s room not long after, laptop in hand. “Found somethin’,” he’d said. “Ghoul, near Wichita.” There had been a slight pause before he’d added, “You comin’?”

Sam had popped out of bed with a smile. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The hunt went off without a hitch. Riding home, high on adrenaline, Sam listened to the purr of the Impala as she chewed up the miles. He shared a dimple-popping smile with Dean and even sang along to some of his brother’s favorite tunes. The diner that night had fresh cherry pie for Dean and an even fresher salad for himself. Sam had just started to think that things might be looking up for the Winchester brothers when they arrived home, and it all came crashing down.

—-

Sam couldn’t sleep. He lay in the dark, eyes fixed on the ceiling, while the day’s events replayed on a loop in his mind. His brain snagged on the single panicked moment when Dean had cried out and he couldn’t determine in which direction his brother had run. Luck had been on his side today, and the choice he’d made had turned out to be correct.

_But what about next time?_

Sam gnawed on his upper lip and thought through the sequence of events again. And again.

Finally, he sat up, ran his fingers through his long hair, and sighed. He wasn’t going to fall sleep any time soon. Sam shrugged into an oversized hoodie and shuffled along in his toasty woolen socks into the kitchen, laptop warm under his arm.

Chamomile tea? Check. Honey? Sam opened the little jar and peeked. Yes, Castiel had left a drizzle. Sam filled the weathered kettle with water and set it over the burner. He twisted the front burner knob until it clicked, and the gas-powered flames lit, then turned the setting down. While the water heated, Sam grubbed around in the fridge, finally settling on preparing a sandwich.

He sat down heavily at the table in the kitchen, took a bite out of his BLT, and stared glumly at his laptop. Sam skimmed the headlines from several papers and tried to dig into a bizarre account of a serial killer who left smiley faces on the bodies - _Is it our kind of crazy?_ \- but nothing could hold his attention for long.

_I put Dean at risk today._

Maybe no more than any other day, really, but Sam couldn’t quite convince himself of that. Lying by omission wasn’t any better than lying outright.

_I need to talk to Dean._

As if Sam had conjured him up with a summoning spell, Dean rushed into the kitchen, all wild-eyed with bed head.

“Hey, Dean—“ Sam started.

His big brother brushed past him, skidding toward the stove in his dead guy slippers. “What the hell, Sam?” Dean pulled the teakettle off the burner and turned off the flame. Only then did Sam notice the absence of a faint whistle. He’d been so focused on reading that he hadn’t heard it.

Dean waved the kettle around, ranting, “It’s three o’clock in the morning and you couldn’t be bothered to—“ His brother trailed off when their eyes met.

Sam swallowed hard and lowered his gaze first. Neither brother said anything. A manic part of Sam’s mind screamed that the silence was deafening.

After several long minutes, Sam looked up to gauge Dean’s reaction. The older man blew out a breath, grimaced, and nodded. “You didn’t hear it.” It wasn’t a question.

Sam wanted to argue - _I did hear it when you made me focus on it!_ \- but Dean’s point still stood. He’d been sitting right next to a whistling tea kettle and had never even noticed. Sam bit his lip and nodded reluctantly.

Dean poured boiling water into Sam’s mug, then prepared a second cup of tea for himself. Funny how he could hear his brother’s soft sigh but miss the shriek of the teakettle.

Sam sat in the quiet, eyes on the table, while his brother plopped a mug of tea in front of him. Dean took the seat opposite and rubbed a hand down his spiky mess of hair.

When he spoke next, his voice was gentle. “We need to talk about this, Sam.”

Sam bobbed his head repetitively, as if in a trance. “I know we do.” His voice cracked over the words. Staring at his hands, Sam spun the heated mug slowly between his long fingers.

His brother swore and set his own tea aside. He got up and stood behind Sam’s seat, placing his palms over his younger brother’s shoulders.

“We’ll figure it out, Sammy,” Dean reassured, kneading his brother’s tense muscles. Sam swallowed over the lump in his throat and rested his cheek on Dean’s arm. “We just gotta get you to a doctor and we’ll go from there, okay?”

Sam nodded, his voice barely a broken whisper. “Okay.”


End file.
